Spencer Cohen Series, Book One (The Spencer Cohen Series 1) (9 page)

Both
. God, he just kept on getting better. “Though it was, what?”

“Infrequent.”

Infrequent?
What the fucking hell was wrong with this Eli?  Something definitely didn’t add up with him. “I have serious concerns about Eli’s state of mind.”

He ignored my comment but stared right into my eyes. “Personal question,” he repeated. He took my hand and inspected the tattoos on my arm, more specifically, he traced his finger along the biggest of the four blackbirds, and my heart just about stopped.
I wasn’t ready for this kind of personal
. “What do these mean?”

I swallowed down the lump in my throat, not sure what to answer. Not sure I could. My tattoos, like most people’s, were reminders, badges of personal experiences. Yes, I might wear them on my skin for the world to see, but their meaning was a little too personal. In the end, I shook my head. My voice was just a whisper. “Veto.”

The bar had quite a crowd for a Sunday evening.

Andrew had been a little quiet since our conversation in his closet. The irony of that certainly wasn’t lost on me. Thankfully he didn’t push it, but he smiled kindly and tried a little too hard to make me feel better, almost like how someone treats a dog that’s been kicked too much.

The irony of that wasn’t lost on me either.

“Drink?” he asked. I nodded, and he went to the bar while I found us a table. He came back with two beers and handed me one. “Out of all the things I’ve asked, what drink you prefer was not one of them.”

“It’s perfect,” I said. “You chose well.”

The bar filled, getting busier and louder. We talked about random stuff. What places we’ve been, what we wanted to be when we were growing up, our most embarrassing moment ever, subjects at school we loved, those we hated, first crushes, first kisses. After three beers I almost forgot what we were there for. Until Andrew looked over my shoulder, his eyes widened and he paled.

I moved closer and put my hand on his waist. “Is Eli here?” I asked quietly into his ear. I felt him nod rather than saw it. “Has he seen us?”

I could feel Andrew’s chest rise and fall against mine, then he nodded. “Yeah. Just now.”

“Good,” I said, pulling back and giving him a smile. “This is what we wanted.”

He looked at me with eyes I couldn’t read. Scared? Unsure? Sorry?

Still with my hand on him, I leaned in again and whispered in his ear. “I want to know how far that blush creeps down your body.”

He barked out a laugh, and as I’d presumed, he blushed. Which was the very reason I said it. “Jesus,” he mumbled, sipping his beer.

I was grinning at him. It was the perfect reaction. If not for the dickhead ex-boyfriend, then it was for me. I didn’t realise I had a thing for men who blushed.

I didn’t realise I was starting to have a thing for Andrew.

Sure, I treated him differently to any other client I’d had, but that was just because we got on so well. Or so I told myself. It wasn’t until there was a guy behind me who I’d still never laid eyes on that it really hit me…

I had feelings for Andrew.

I didn’t know what I wanted. But I was pretty sure I didn’t want Andrew to reconcile with Eli. Actually, I didn’t even want him to speak to him.

I was failing at my job. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. I was swaying my job for personal gain, and that was worse.

“What do I do?” he asked.

I was going to tell him to make his way to the bar. Give Eli the opportunity to make contact. But then Andrew put his hand on my chest, and that touch, that warmth changed everything.

“We bide our time,” I whispered in his ear. I could smell his cologne, I could feel his body heat against me. It was heady, and I could barely speak. “We make him jealous. We make him realise what he walked away from.”

Andrew’s voice was breathy and hot in my ear. “He’s watching.”

God, my head was spinning, my heart was pounding. “Good,” I murmured. And it
was
good. I wanted Eli to watch. I wanted to put my hand around Andrew’s neck and kiss him. Fuck, I wanted to kiss him until he forgot his own name. I wanted to do more than that. I wasn’t exactly lying about wanting to see how far that blush went down his body.

“Do we go or do we stay?” he whispered against the shell of my ear.

I didn’t know. It was the first time since I’d started this gig that I had no clue what I was doing. I knew we should stay, I knew I should instigate a point of contact for my client, but I wasn’t ready for this to be over.

Jesus, my head was all over the place. And not exactly ruled by reason. I wasn’t thinking straight—if that wasn’t the crux of all gay men’s jokes—it wasn’t just my dick that was making this decision. My stupid heart had a fair bit to say about it. Unfortunately, my even stupider brain wasn’t anywhere to be found. “Let’s get out of here.”

I took his hand and led him through the bar, and that was when I spotted Eli. He was just like the photos I’d seen, and there was no doubt that he noticed I was wearing the vest he’d given Andrew because his eyes narrowed when he saw me in it, and there was no doubt he was watching Andrew.

I was trying not to smile when we got outside, but it was Andrew who laughed. “Did you see his face?”

“I did.” I opened the door of the closest cab and held it for him. He slid into the back seat, and I joined him.

“What do we do now?” he asked. I wasn’t sure if his excitement was because contact had been made or because we pulled off the illusion of being on a date or if it was the three beers he’d had, but his smile was beautiful.

I gave the cabbie Andrew’s address. “We go back to your house and post some pics on Facebook.”

He laughed again. His whole face was lit up, like he was some teenaged kid who just door-knocked and ran. It was kind of adorable. “You weren’t joking when you said we’d get a reaction from him.”

I agreed. “He looked shocked”

“I don’t think he liked my vest on you.”

“That was why I wore it.”

He breathed out a quiet laugh, and I was waiting for realisation to kick in. The high of success was usually followed by a what-have-I-done? low, but with Andrew it never really came.

“Should I be concerned about what type of photos you want to put on my Facebook?” he asked as we walked into his living room.

“No. I said Facebook, not Grindr.”

He laughed at that and walked through to the kitchen. I saw the still-not-connected record player and decided it needed to be working and was bent over the lowboy cabinet plugging the power cord in when Andrew came back in.

He was holding two beers and was totally checking my arse out. “Like what you see?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

He held a bottle of beer out to me. “Shut up and drink it.”

I took the beer with a laugh. “You were supposed to be the meek and polite guy. Not telling me to shut up and drink.”

He took a swig of beer and smiled as he swallowed it. “Only in front of people I’m not comfortable with.”

“Glad to hear that.” I tapped my bottle to his. “Cheers.”

There was a long few seconds where neither of us looked away, and it made my heart pound all out of rhythm and a warmth buzzed through my groin. If he weren’t a client, I would have taken the bottle out of his hand, pushed him back on the sofa, and found every point of skin on his body that made him moan.

Completely oblivious to the pornographic images in my head, he fell back onto the sofa and put one foot up on the coffee table. “The LP won’t play itself,” he said.

I scoffed at him, picked up a cushion from the recliner, and threw it at him. “Bossy shit.”

He caught the cushion easily and let it fall onto his lap. I wondered if it was to hide his arousal or if it was just me who was on edge. I knew without a doubt I’d be taking matters in to my own hands as soon as I got home.

I put the vinyl record onto the turntable and couldn’t help but smile as that familiar crackle filled the room before Jeff Buckley started to play. Then, still facing the record player, I pointed to my arse. “You get a good look?”

I turned around, but he was looking at his phone. “Sorry, what was that?” he asked, still distracted.

“Nothing,” I said. I sat down right beside him. “Did he message you?”

“Nope.”

“He will.”

“You sound pretty sure.”

“Well, I’m good at what I do.”

He blinked a few times and took a long pull of his beer, so I took his phone. I pressed the camera button and leaned back into the crook of his arm. I pulled his arm around my shoulder and totally manoeuvred us to look as close and casual as possible. I held the phone out to take a selfie of us, but the first picture looked wrong. He wasn’t smiling.

“You’re allowed to smile,” I told him.

He did, but it was still too forced. So I dug my fingers into his ribs, and he jumped and laughed, almost spilling his beer. “Hey!” he cried, giving me a playful shove.

I kept my finger on the button as I turned my head, trying to bite his chest. He snorted out a laugh so I tickled him some more and we kind of reclined, with my back against his chest. His arm came back over my shoulder, his hand on my chest, holding me there. It was very relaxed, very natural. I held the phone up and snapped some more, and the photos showed a better smile on his face now. A more content smile.

“Perfect,” I said. I pressed the Facebook app button, and seeing he had some notifications and messages—which were none of my business—I handed him back his phone. “Did you want to check those?”

He reached over to put his beer on the side table and took the phone. He could have easily used the hand that was resting on my chest, but he obviously liked where it was. I didn’t exactly object.

“Mmm,” he said. “Usual crap.” He handed his phone back to me without a hint of hesitation.

I hit the upload picture button and selected the best one. It only showed half his face and the top of my head to my eyes, and it was kind of blurry, but it was clear we were both laughing. It was also pretty clear I had my head on his chest and his arm was around my shoulder. “This one?” I asked.

He looked at it for a second and answered with a nod.

“What do we say?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “This is your domain.”

I snorted and typed in
Best night ever
, and before I could question if it was too much, I hit Post. “Done.”

He was silent, though I could feel his heart beating against the side of my head. But he never moved his arm from around me, and I still didn’t object. It was literally only seconds later before the first
Likes
came through, followed by a few
LOL
s and two
Andrew????
s and one
Hey Andrew, I think someone stole your phone
.

Andrew huffed out a laugh. “That’s Michelle. I work with her.” Then his private messages dinged. “Aaaaand that’s Sarah,” he said with a sigh. He didn’t read the messages though, and after about twenty seconds, his phone rang. His sister’s name flashed on screen, and with a groan, he answered. “Hey.”

I could really only hear the buzz of her voice, not the exact words, but it sounded like she said, “He’s there with you now?”

“Well, yeah. Can we have this conversation tomorrow?”

I took a mouthful of beer and threaded the fingers of my free hand through his hand that was still around my shoulder. It was ridiculous how natural this was, how intimate and totally amazing it was. I hadn’t had this kind of closeness in a long time. Sure, I’d had one-nighters, the occasional two-nighter, but nothing like this. Nothing like lazing on the sofa all snuggled in for a Sunday night.

“It was just to get a reaction from him, that’s all,” Andrew said. “No big deal.”

No big deal.

Only it was. To me, at least. And there I was thinking I could get used to being like this with Andrew, before I remembered he was actually still in love with someone else. And that drove home a reality check like a Mack fucking truck.

The reality was, as nice as playing pretend boyfriends was, I still had a job to do. As much as I didn’t want to do it. He was paying me to get his ex back.

Fucking Goddammit. I let go of his hand and sat up straight and faced him. “Can I speak to her?” I asked quietly.

He frowned. “Spencer wants to talk to you,” he told her. After his sister said something I couldn’t hear, he handed me the phone.

“Hi Sarah, it’s Spencer,” I said.

“Hi,” she said, obviously unsure. “Nice photo.”

“Oh, thanks.”

“He talks about you,” she said.

Oh.

Remember your job, Spencer. Remember what he’s spending time with you for.

I cleared my throat. “Can I ask a favour?”

She was quiet, waiting for me to continue.

“Can you please comment on that photo about meeting us out next Saturday night?” I asked. “Say, ‘Nine o’clock at Jazz and Blues Bar.’”

“Um, sure,” she hedged. “Why?”

“So Eli will see it. You don’t actually have to meet us at the bar, if you don’t want. But we’ll be there.” I looked right at Andrew when I said, “And I can guarantee Eli will be too.”

He held my gaze for a while before he picked up his beer and took a long drink.

“Spencer?” Sarah’s voice in my ear startled me. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“How’s Andrew been?”

“Fine,” I replied. “Though it’s not like I’d really know, is it?”

There was a long pause, then she said, “Hmm, I guess.”

“Anyway,” I said changing the subject completely, “he’s looking at me funny. Though he did want me to tell you that he would love to cook dinner for you tomorrow night.”

“No I didn’t,” he yelled with a shove to my arm.